Collateral Damage
by VolceVoice
Summary: The operation was a success, but no one could say it had gone well . . . Will Sam let Kensi help him? And what about Callen? Set some time after "Alarmed," which is somewhere further down in the list . . .
1. Chapter 1

**This is set sometime after "Alarmed," which you'll find somewhere down in the list. You don't have to read it first, but it wouldn't hurt!**

**Disclaimer: The characters aren't mine and no disrespect to the script writers or the actors is meant.**

**This wasn't supposed to be a multiple chapter story, but it grew . . . and grew . . . and it's finally done.**

********

The operation was a success, but no one could say it had gone well.

Marine Sergeant Forrest Groppman, had made his final stand in the worst possible place, and visuals had been cut off for nearly ten minutes until Eric had pulled off one of his Deus Ex miracles to bring up scene after scene of indescribable chaos--but no other signs of the point team.

And just as a streetside security camera had picked up figures standing in showdown formation in the middle of the street, an apparent explosion had blown out the transmission.

It was another century until word came that the target had been acquired and Sam and Callen were enroute back to OPS.

Kensi remembered how to breathe.

She traded relieved smiles with Dom and squeezed Eric's shoulder as he dropped into a chair and wiped his glasses with his shirttail. Even Hetty's shoulders sagged in relief for a split second, before she resumed her impeccable posture and marched off to report to Director Vance. Nate blew out a long breath of his own, shot Kensi one of his rare smiles, and quietly left the ops room. By tacit agreement, the rest of the agents followed him to the common area to wait.

Dom and Eric sat down at the table and picked up their old argument about social networking sites, while Nate took his usual observation post to one side, graphic novel in hand. Kensi paced, refusing to relax until she saw with her own eyes that her teammates were unhurt.

But when they finally arrived, Sam brushed past Kensi without a word and stalked to the staircase, leaving Callen, stoic mask well in place, to explain in two words: "Collateral damage." He looked down at his black shirt, which wasn't dark enough to hide the street grime or blood spatter, and left in the direction of the locker room. Kensi, frozen in place, watched Nate move to the foot of the stairs, head cocked as if listening to something. He nodded to himself, and went after Callen.

Kensi frowned. Callen would be all right—he was always all right, or at least wouldn't admit to being anything else. Why had Nate chosen him over Sam? She'd _never_ seen an expression like that on Sam's face . . . not even when they'd almost lost Callen . . .

She thought she heard Dom say her name, but she was already walking away. Halfway up the stairs, she recognized what Nate must have heard: the sound of fists hitting a canvas punching bag.

Kensi ventured back into the darkened corner and stood , watching Sam pound the bag with unbreakable concentration. The steady punches sped up, until emotion overcame skill and he beat on the bag with all of his considerable strength. Long after she thought it would, his energy gave out and he leaned against the swaying bag, steadying it with one arm.

She took two steps, and he lifted his head to look at her. She slowed down, but didn't stop, halving the distance between them before he let go. He moved to the bench against the wall and sank down bonelessly, head lowered, perspiration gleaming in the dim light.

She sat next to him and cradled one of his large hands in hers. "I thought I was the one with the temper," she said, looking at the swollen knuckles. She blew across them, hoping to cool the inflamed skin.

"Surprise," he said, without smiling. He tried to pull away, but she wouldn't let him.

"We couldn't see anything, or hear anything. we didn't know if you were okay or . . ." She threaded her fingers through his, careful of his injury. "Talk to me, Sam," she whispered.

He shook his head. "Kensi . . . "

"Whatever else I am to you, Sam, I'm an agent, too. A _born operator_, Callen says. You can share this with me--I won't break. Or run." She waited for him to nod. "_What happened out there_?"

He sat motionless for a few seconds, then drew in a deep breath and started to speak.

*******


	2. Chapter 2

**This is where the drama and angst comes in. There's violence, too, but not very graphic, and some language.**

**I hope I have Sam's voice right . . . **

*******

The last thing we heard through the comms was that Groppman and two of his buddies had arrived. . . Epert called it, from his station on the east corner of the block. The area was secure and cleared except for agents to set the scene, moving down the sidewalks or loitering with cigarettes. We even had a few driving along the street. A busy, public place, just like Groppman wanted--the perfect place to sell Eyes Only military intel to a couple of enterprising and disillusioned contractors shipping back to Iraq.

"Perfect trap for a traitor," G said.

"Just remember," I said. "Vance wants him alive."

"Yeah, yeah. Here he comes. We can add jaywalking to the--wait. Uh-oh."

I don't know what spooked Groppman . . . maybe the scene was too good, tripped his paranoia. Maybe someone touched their damned earpiece. Maybe his spidey sense kicked in.

All I know is, he stopped in the middle of the street, stopping a red Saturn, and said something I couldn't catch. G looked back at me. "Sam--"

Groppman's buddies pulled machine pistols and opened fire.

G dropped to the sidewalk. I thought he . . . but then he rolled and got his gun up, nailing the one on the left. I'd taken cover behind a parked car, but managed to come up at the hood and get the second one. The gunfire stopped.

Glass crunched under our feet—they'd shot up the Saturn pretty bad, and the agent inside wasn't moving. I got the door open, found her pulse, and yelled for someone to call an ambulance.

I heard G say, "Call a lot of them."

Someone—the new transfer, Peabody—ran up and said he thought five agents were down, but he didn't know how bad. The damn comms weren't working--jammed or just useless. And Groppman had disappeared.

"At least he's alive," G said. "Now where the hell is he?"

We heard another shot, and saw Epert go down. Peabody told us to go, and we took off, sighting Groppman halfway down the next block. We hadn't secured much more than that, in case . . . in case he _noticed._

You ever follow a desperate, armed murderer down a crowded street? You can't fire unless you have a clear shot, but they can. They don't care who they toss in your path, they don't care who they hit when they shoot at you. And every time you duck, you think about the civilians exposed behind you, people who never signed up for this, while you try like hell to catch up before anyone else gets hurt.

That shit gets old real fast.

But we _did _catch up, and finally when Groppman turned to fire, nothing happened. We were going to get the son of a bitch.

And then the school bus turned the corner. Full of easy hostages.

We heard the kids screaming, and then Groppman walked around the front of bus, shoving a kid in front of him. We pulled up about fifteen feet away, the blood pounding in my ears so hard I couldn't hear what Groppman was yelling.

But I got the gist just by looking at the boy.

He was maybe seven or eight, scared out of his mind--and he was holding a grenade.

*******

**Did I botch this? Anyone want to read more?**


	3. Chapter 3

**Thanks to everyone who took the time to review the last two chapters! I hope this next section doesn't disappoint. . . **

**And an extra thanks to Zak's-blood13, whose review gave me the first couple lines.**

*******

"You've got to be kidding me," said G. "Who uses grenades any more?"

"I do," said Groppman. "This one is a family heirloom. My father brought it back from Vietnam."

"Daddy's boy?" G asked him, keeping his attention as I eased to one side.

Groppman laughed. "Not hardly." He grabbed the kid by the upper arm. The boy flinched and tried to look over his shoulder, but Groppman forced him still, knocking off the baseball cap. "You," Groppman said, pointing his gun at me, "Stop. Both of you drop your weapons."

His clip was empty and I knew one of us could hit him without hurting the hostage, but we couldn't risk the boy fumbling the grenade--four seconds wasn't long enough to get him clear. Even so, we weren't standing down.

"No," I said.

"Hell, no," said G.

"Drop them, or I take the grenade away from junior and pitch it onto the bus." He smiled, like either way was good for him.

I tossed my gun behind me. I could see G trying to think of a way to keep his, but in the end, he set it down.

"Slide it here," said Groppman.

G kicked it less than halfway. "Come and get it."

"That wasn't very nice. Or smart. Let's go," he said, and shoved the boy forward. The son of a bitch was going for the gun. And when he got it . . .

G tensed, and I knew he was planning on jumping them. I could see only two ways it could work, and only one of those had G walking away. Maybe. If Groppman cooperated.

And like Nate says, _crazy_ doesn't mean _stupid_.

But there wasn't anything else to do.

I took a last look at the bus to judge how much damage it would take if this didn't work. I could see two kids trying to help the driver, who was slumped out cold in her seat, and I heard a lot of the others crying.

Something seemed off about the noises they were making, but I couldn't figure it out and didn't know why it was important . . .until it registered that the bus was from the de Sales school.

And I was willing to bet Groppman hadn't noticed.

"G," I said, and he glanced at me. I nodded at the boy, who had mirrored G's attention and stopped. Groppman shoved at him said, "Don't try anything, kid, or I'll make you wish you hadn't." The boy moved, but kept watching me.

I made a fist and flicked two fingers at G. The boy shook his head and I did it again and once more before he nodded. They were almost there.

I held down three fingers and started a count.

Three, two, one—

The boy threw the grenade to G, who caught it and spun for the curb sewer drain.

I was already on my way to grab the kid and get him as far away as I could, but Groppman tossed him out of the way like a ragdoll and dove for G's gun--

The grenade went off.

I was thrown into Groppman, and we hit the ground hard--I made sure of that. I pinned him until I was sure nothing was coming down on my head. I could see the bus, which was intact and rocking just a little. But I didn't see G.

I sat up and saw G about ten feet away, kneeling next to the boy. G rolled him over, and I saw the blood. There was a lot of blood. And the kid wasn't moving.

I got to my feet, yanked Groppman up. He coughed and blinked at me, then looked past me. "Aw, too bad. Nice kid. But you guys are used to a little collateral damage, right?" He did this coughing chuckle and I hit him.

It wasn't enough, so I hit him again. And again. I went for another one, but G got in the way.

"Vance wants him alive."

"I don't give a good goddamn." And I didn't. I've _never_ disobeyed an order, not as a SEAL, not as an agent, . . but this time . . _this_ time I was going to put a killer--a _child_ killer--down, with my bare hands. I was going to make him _suffer_--

G was hollering my name. "Sam--Sam! Look, damn it!" G yanked me around, and I saw the boy move an arm, put a hand to his head. "You have to tell him what's going on. Let go. Let go and tell that kid he saved the day. _Let go_!"

I didn't want to. It was damned close. Too damned close. . . but I let go and I walked away.

"Yeah, Sam." Groppman did this coughing laugh behind me. "Vance wants me _alive._"

"He wants you to be able to talk," I heard G say. "You know how much damage I can do before you can't? I'd be_ glad _to show you."

I knelt down by the boy. He looked up at me and moved his fingers. _Good . . . Throw?_

_Yes. Saved Us. _I heard ambulance sirens coming closer. _Name?_

_B . . .R-A-N . . .D-O-N._ He pointed to me.

_S-A-M. _I grinned. _You Hero. Brave._

He frowned. _Scared._ He started to cough, and there was more blood. _Scared._

An Ambulance pulled around the bus and the EMTs jumped out. "Over here!" I yelled.

_Me Too_, I told Brandon before they moved me out of the way and started working on him.

Me, too.

*******

**One more chapter to pull it all together . . . I hope . . . **


	4. Chapter 4

**Thanks to everyone who's stuck with this story this far!**

*******

Sam signed _Me Too_ and lowered his free hand.

Kensi suppressed her need to curse Groppman in every language she knew, climb into Sam's lap, and hold him as tightly as she could. But this wasn't about her. So she kept still and silent, and waited.

After a while, he said, "G turned Groppman over to Peabody and Randle—if we'd taken him in, he might not have survived the trip."

"He would have." Kensi spoke the flat fact as an obvious truth.

Sam grimaced. "You weren't there, Kens. You don't—I almost killed him. I still want to. He hurt or killed I don't know how many people and it's just dumb luck Brandon is still alive." He shook his head. "And he's never going to burn for it. Not while he's got the information he knows we need."

"You think Vance won't see that Groppman gets his?"

Sam shrugged. "Whatever he gets, it won't be enough." His eyes closed for a long moment, then opened and looked down at her. He raised their linked fingers and rested his lips on the back of her hand before letting go. "Thanks for listening."

"Anytime." She smiled at him, relieved that he was with her again, _seeing_ her. "I like you, Sam," she said, using their own personal catchphrase that could mean anything they wanted and seemed to mean more each time it was said.

He offered a smile of his own. Subdued and tired, but enough for her. "I like you, too, Kensi."

She leaned against his shoulder and he rested his head on hers. "You want company tonight?" she said. She pulled back to look at him. "I'll understand if you—"

"Yeah," he said. "Company would be nice." He sighed and stretched, making a face at the sound of cracking joints. "Maybe a backrub?"

"Full body massage, if you want."

"Deal." He offered a stronger smile, then frowned. "Damn. Need to write my report, first." He did some slow air typing and winced as some of his swollen knuckles started to bleed. "That's going to take a while."

"Here," Kensi passed him the packet of antibacterial wipes she'd started keeping in her back pocket, thanks to N1H1. "I'll help you."

He dabbed at his wounds and raised an eyebrow. "You know shorthand?"

"No, I know Eric. And he knows how to install speech recognition software on your laptop." She stood and waited for him to get to his feet. "And after that, you and I are going to the hospital to see a hero."

They walked to the stairs. "I don't know where they sent him. Or his last name."

"Then I guess we're lucky there's an I in NCIS."

Halfway down, they saw Callen, stalking out with his laptop under his arm. His back screamed _don't mess with me._

"I'm glad Nate went after him," she said. Her preference for Sam aside, she didn't know if she would have--or even could have--tried to help Callen cope with a situation that triggered all his defenses. _Collateral damage,_ she thought.

"So am I. You're cuter."

"I resent that," said Nate as they took the last step. "How are you holding up?"

"I'm good, thanks. Really," Sam added, as Nate studied him.

Nate nodded. "Okay."

"What about Callen?" asked Kensi.

"If he weren't affected, I'd worry." Nate shrugged. "He's made of strong stuff. Oh, Eric wanted me to give you this." He passed Sam a piece of paper.

Sam glanced at it. "Brandon Novak, Cedars-Sinai. Thanks."

"And Hetty wants to see you."

Sam sighed. "Thanks." He rubbed the back of his neck. "This day is never going to end."

"It has for you, Mr. Hanna." How Hetty could cross a cement floor in the heels she favored without making a sound--if she so chose--was one of the great mysteries of the OSP. "As long as your report appears in my in-box at 0800, you may leave, as it appears Mr. Callen has already done. You'll need this." She handed him his laptop case. "I took the liberty of having Mr. Beal install some software that should keep you from bleeding," her lips pursed in distaste, "on the keyboard."

"Thank you, Hetty," said Sam, not bothering with the schoolboy tone he usually reserved for her benefit.

"You're welcome. Go home. Dr. Getz, a word?" She headed for her office, heels rapping smartly.

Nate quirked his eyebrows at Sam and Kenzi and followed, almost running into Hetty as she stopped and turned in place. "Mr. Hanna, that software can be tricky for the uninitiated." She raised a finger to her chin in thought. "Perhaps Miss Blye would agree to assist you in its use?"

Kensi stared at her, until Sam nudged her arm. "Ah, sure--yes." Kenise nodded. "I'd be glad to."

"Good. Please give young Mr. Novak our best," she added over her shoulder as she continued on her way, Nate in tow.

"We will," they chorused.

"How does she _do_ that?" asked Kensi.

"I don't care," said Sam, tucking the laptop under his arm. "Let's go. You'd better drive. Ahh," he said as he pulled out his phone and fumbled it. "G--Brandon Novak's in Cedar-Sinai. Kensi and I are headed there now. And don't give me any crap about three being a crowd. Voice mail," he said, shoving the phone back in his pocket. "Ow," he said, flexing his hand. "Serves me right for being stupid."

"You told Callen about us?"

"He's my partner." He chuckled. "_He_ told _me_."

Kensi stopped in her tracks. "Really?" She jogged to catch up to Sam, who was waiting by her car. "What he say?"

Sam chuckled again. "He said if I had to choose a cop, you were the cop to choose."

Kensi didn't know if she liked Callen knowing about their relationship--even if he didn't seem to disapprove--but she loved him for making Sam laugh. She wished she knew how to return the favor. "Think he'll show up?"

Sam eased the passenger door open. "He'll be there."

She hoped so, she really did, though she thought it was more likely he'd hole up somewhere all alone and then show up at work like nothing had happened. Like he always did.

_. . . you guys are used to a little collateral damage, right?_

But when they arrived at Cedars-Sinai and found the ICU, Callen was there, waiting for them.

*******

**Four chapters in, what, five days? Whew! I've never had a story attack me like this. . .**

**UPDATE: I thought this was the end . . . but now I'm not sure. . .**

**Let me know if you like it, please, or not, or what I flubbed. 'Cause if you don't let me know, I won't learn nuthin'.**


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: No disrespect is intended towards Cedars-Sinai or its staff, CBS, or the writers or actors of NCIS:LA.**

*******

Kensi was right about one thing--Callen did act like he hadn't stormed out of OSP less than an hour ago.

"What took you so long?" he asked, wiseass smirk in place. "Doesn't look like you stopped to change."

Sam looked down. "Man, I forgot," he said. "Hetty didn't say anything."

"That's one of your _comfortable_ shirts," said Callen. "She probably couldn't tell the difference."

"Funny. There's a spare in my--no, Kensi drove."

"You let _Kensi_ drive? You _are_ getting old."

Kensi shot him a glare. She knew all about using humor to tough it out, but Callen was overdoing it. "Don't worry about it," she told Sam, brushing him down, "You look fine. "

The nurse at the first station seemed to think so. "Brendan Novak?" she repeated, her gaze sliding down Sam's torso to his hands "He's not in direct observation, so--" She blinked and sat up. "Those look painful."

"I'm all right."

"You're bleeding. " She walked around the desk to take a look at his knuckles. "The bathroom's over there. Wash really well with soap and water, and I'll get you some ointment."

"Um, okay." He glanced at Kensi. "I'll be right back."

Kensi noticed that the nurse paused to watch Sam walk away and moved to block the other woman's line of sight without thinking about it. _Smooth, Kensi_, she thought, _why not hire a skywriter?_

"Down girl," said Callen.

"Shut up." She stalked to the opposite wall to wait.

Callen followed and dropped his grin. "He didn't hurt his hands in the explosion."

"No." Kensi watched Callen tense up. "He took his mood out on that heavy bag of his."

Callen relaxed. "Ouch."

"You thought he paid a visit to Groppman?"

Callen shot her a look. "Sam takes things hard, sometimes."

"Oh, and you don't?" Kensi asked.

He leaned against the wall and folded his arms. "Not that much," he said.

_Sure. That's why you wanted to rip Nate new one _and_ why you beat us to the hospital. _

After a pause, Callen proved her right again. "So, the kid's not in direct observation," he said. "That's got to be good, right?"

"I hope so." It would have been even better if Brendon wasn't in the Critical Care Tower at all. She didn't want to think about what a bad prognosis would do to Sam. Or, from the looks of it, his partner. "Did they tell you anything?"

He shrugged. "I was about to ask the nurse, but then Sam came in looking all heroic and damaged and she forgot all about me."

"Jealous?"

"Maybe a little. I have a good track record with nurses."

"I'll just bet you do."

Sam came back, looking slightly cleaner. "We good to go?" he said.

"Just waiting for you," said Callen, as the nurse sashayed up.

"I brought you some Bacitracin," she said, looking up at Sam through her lashes. "Just hold out your hands and I'll make it all better--"

Kensi plucked the tube out of the nurse's fingers and bared her teeth in a smile. "I'll take care of him. Thanks. Could you please direct us to Brendon Novak's room and tell the nurse in charge of his care that NCIS agents are here to see him? Please?"

"Oh," said the nurse, as she found herself in an unexpected staring contest. "Of course." She returned to her station, without swinging her hips this time, and brought up the information.

"Thank you," said Kensi. She sauntered to the elevators, and hit a button. The doors opened. "C'mere, Sam," she said, waving the Bacitracin.

"You think she's going make it all better?" asked Callen under his breath. "Or brand you?"

"Either way," said Sam, with a bemused expression, "probably shouldn't keep her waiting."

They checked with the male nurse stationed across from Brendan's open door. "His mother's in there now," he said. "I'll tell her you're here."

Through the door, Kensi saw a small figure huddled in the large bed, tubes and wires connected to his left arm. Her rage at Groppman, already strong, went incandescent. She knew now why Sam had wanted to end him—she would have damn well tried herself.

A tired-looking woman with tear streaks down her face came into the hall. "I'm Trina Novak," she said. "NCIS? Are you the people who saved my son's life?"

"It was the other way around, ma'am. I'm Sam Hanna."

"_You're_ Sam," she said. "He kept signing your name. And someone he's calling _catcher_."

"That would be my partner."

Callen cleared his throat. "I'm Callen," he said. "This is Kensi Blye. How is Brendan?"

"Um, he has a concussion and some broken ribs," she said, rubbing her hands on her upper arms as if trying to keep warm. "He had to have some stitches on the back of his head . . . they're watching him to make sure there's no internal bleeding or that his brain won't . . . won't swell . . ." She pressed her lips together, then took a deep breath. "But the doctors say it could have been a lot worse."

"Yeah," said Callen. "It could have been. Can we see him?"

"Um, well, he's in and out," she said. "I don't think he can answer any questions right now."

"We don't want to ask him anything," said Sam. "We just want to thank him. Your son was very brave. And he really did save the day."

"Oh," said Mrs. Novak, a smile breaking through. "In that case, of course."

The nurse put in his two cents. "One visitor at a time, five minutes."

Mrs. Novak lost her smile and half-turned toward the door. "Oh, but--"

"My ASL is a little rusty," said Sam, "And Callen doesn't know any. Could Mrs. Novak stay to interpret for us?"

The nurse frowned, then nodded. "Works for me."

"You go first," said Callen. "We'll wait over there."

Sam followed Mrs. Novak into the room and Kensi followed Callen to a nearby alcove. The chairs were surprisingly comfortable, but Callen looked anything but.

"You okay?" asked Kensi, expecting a terse reply.

"I don't like hospitals." He winced as a code blue was called over the intercom. "Bad memories."

"But you're here."

"Can't let it stop me," he said, his eyes showing fierce blue determination. "Besides, the kid got hurt doing my job for me. Least I can do is thank him."

"Sam thought you were going to jump Groppman."

"I was." He smiled without humor. "Glad I didn't have to."

"If you had . . . and it hadn't worked . . . " she hesitated. "Would you have thrown yourself on the grenade? "

"Hell, no--I was going to throw Groppman on it." He sat back and closed his eyes. "The hell with taking him alive. If I'd known then how brave the kid was, I might have risked the head shot."

"Even if Vance needs--?"

"Vance needs to find another way to get that information, whatever the hell it is. Groppman is psychopathic murderer and he needs to be put down. He _should_ be put down."

"But you stopped Sam from killing him."

"Sam doesn't need that on his record. Or his conscience."

"And you do?"

He opened one eye. "Sam's worth ten of me, Kensi--not that I'd admit it to him, even under torture. He didn't let me die when I got shot--I'm not going to let him throw his life away on a piece of shit like Groppman."

Kensi swallowed. "Fair enough," she said. "Hey, Callen?"

"Yeah?"

She waited until he opened both eyes and looked at her. "Thank you."

He gave her a sharp nod. "Don't mention it."

Sam appeared. "Your turn," he said. "You two play nice while I was gone?"

"Yeah," said Callen. "Nate could learn a couple of things from Dr. Blye, here."

She grinned at him. "I have it on good authority that I'm cuter."

He grinned back. "I'd agree, but Sam would try to break me in half and bust his knuckles again."

He levered himself up and sauntered toward Brendan's room.

"What was that all about?" asked Sam, sitting down and stretching out his legs.

"Sorry, patient-doctor privilege," she said. "Wait here a minute." She got up and went to the nurse's station. "Do you have a pen and something to write on?"

The nurse found a drug-reaction warning, and Kensi wrote on the blank side. She thanked him, returned the pen, and went to lean against the wall by Brendan's door.

"He's a little loopy from the painkillers, Agent Callen" she heard Mrs. Novak say. "He's usually such a good speller. . ." Her voice shook.

"He'd better just call me G, then," said Callen. "Yeah, just the letter--that's what my friends call me. You have a good arm, there, Brendan. Thanks for the perfect pitch."

"'Thanks for a perfect catch, G,'" translated Mrs. Novak.

"Any time, kid," said Callen.

He came out a few seconds later with Mrs. Novak, shook her hand, and passed by Kensi with a lift of his eyebrows.

"Mrs. Novak," said Kensi. "I wasn't there this morning, but could I speak to Brendan, too? "

"Of course."

Kensi went into the room. The boy watched her approach with bleary, drugged eyes. One cheek was scraped raw, and she could see where the top of his head had been shaved to accommodate a series of ugly stitches. "My name's Kensi," she said, and kissed his unwounded cheek, watching as a big embarrassed grin bloomed across his battered face and his eyes darted past her for his mother's translation. "Thank you for saving my friends."

She handed Mrs. Novak the paper, angling herself so Brendan couldn't read her lips, just in case. "This is the number of a friend of mine in the Crime Victim's Advocate's office. She'll fight for Brendan. "

"They wouldn't tell me anything," said Mrs. Novak. "Not the man's name, not anything."

"That's standard procedure," said Kensi, trying to sound calm instead of condemning. And if the Powers that Be didn't release Groppman's name, she'd leave an anonymous tip on Jocelyn's answering machine. "But if anyone can make him pay, she will. I promise. And this is the number of another friend of mine, Dr. Getz. He's a psychologist and he's used to helping people who are . . . " c_ollateral damage,_ " . . . in Brendon's situation. And yours."

"We don't have much money," said Mrs. Novak, clutching the paper. "I work at the de Sales Academy to help with Brendan's tuition, but there just isn't any to spare for—"

"It's covered," said Kensi, making a mental note to talk to Nate. She didn't think she'd have to browbeat him much.

"Thank you," said Mrs. Novak. She started to cry, big wrenching sobs that she tried to stifle with the back of her hand. Kensi hesitated, then put her arms around the other woman, holding her. She heard a moan and turned her head to see Brendon struggling to sit.

Kensi made the OK sign and pointed at him with a stern finger, the universal sign for 'stay put.' He subsided, and she gave him another OK sign. The nurse stuck his head in, and she made a shooing motion. He nodded and left.

Mrs. Novak finally gathered herself together. "Thank you again," she said, chuckling a little. "I'm sorry, it's just—"

"You're entitled," said Kensi. She squeezed the other woman's shoulders and waved at Brendon, who lifted a hand.

She left the room to find Sam and Callen waiting for her. "How come we get five minutes, and you get fifteen?" said Callen.

"I'm special," she said, with a straight face. "Sam and I are headed to his place so he can get his report done. You want to join us?"

"Nah, three's a crowd," said Callen. "I think I'll hang around here and pick up a cute nurse to make me all better."

"I'm off at six," said Brendon's nurse, without looking up from his terminal. Kensi fought down a smile and Sam coughed.

"On second thought," said Callen, without changing expression, "Maybe a quiet night at home would be best." He led the way to the elevators.

"Where is home right now?" asked Sam. "I know you slept at OSP last night--you left a gob of that weird toothpaste of yours in the washroom sink again."

Callen shrugged. "I'll think of someplace."

Kensi debated with herself for a moment, then dug into her pocket for her keyring. "Here," she said, detaching her house key and holding it up. "You can have the couch. Spare pillows and blankets are in the hall closet. Towels, too."

Callen stared at her. "You sure?"

"I'm not planning on being there," she said, ignoring Sam's grin. "No loud music, no messing with my Tivo--and stay out of my underwear drawer." She flipped him the key.

"Done. Thanks, Kensi."

"Don't mention it."

As Sam and she settled into her car, Sam said, "Thanks."

"For what?"

"For giving G a place to bunk tonight."

"That's what friends are for," she said, watching Callen move alone through the parking lot.

_I can't make it all better . . . but maybe I can help minimize the damage. . ._

She turned the ignition, and drove away.

*******

**Done, done, done! Hope this ties everything up in a realistic way . . . given the premise . . . **

**Any and all comments are appreciated.**


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